


Start Again

by Arithanas



Series: The Count and his Valet [1]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: D/s, M/M, Master/Servant, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-19
Updated: 2011-06-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 20:53:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3783994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is 1609, La Fère. There are many changes in the life of a teenager and the difficulties are multiplied when parents have high expectations. The young Vicomte de La Fère, about to turn 16, has to prepare their departure for naval service, and one of the things on his agenda was to elect who will be the servant who will accompany him as his valet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Start Again

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction. The author does not condones or support child or domestic abuse, but she can not forget that those where part of the customs of the time. Dumas & Maquet’s work is public domain.

_He who is not a good servant will not be a good master._  
_~ Plato_

 

Olivier, young _Vicomte_ _de La Fère_ , had trouble putting words on paper, he was quite angry and mortified by the news that his father had dropped in his lap this very morning. His eyes wandered over the paper, reviewing the sentences he had written, with his most neat Gothic calligraphy. He had not seen his mother since he was a toddler, when she went to serve the Queen Marie, leaving his father in charge of his education and care, but he wrote to her religiously every other day. He barely remember her face, the only thing he was certain was that he had inherited her dark mane, because his father had fair hair. In idle moments he found himself thinking about how to make his father sent him to his mother, sometimes he suspected that his bad behavior as a child was a silly ploy to get his father wanted to get rid of him; and now that his behavior was almost perfect for the stern standards of his father, it seemed like that he had succeeded in procuring his departure, but not in the direction he had expected.

  _Dear Madame la Comtesse,_

> _Today your worthy husband has decided I am not to live under his roof. He will send me to the navy. Maybe it’s a good idea, both of us are too stubborn to coexist peacefully and my behavior did not seem adequate to him, which only make us discuss for days on end. No, he did not raise his hand against me since reason came into my hard head. Please, do not concern yourself._
> 
> _What made him took this decision? I do not know. Was that from the first snow I was fantasizing about the Greek nymph that good King Henry gave him? I swear, mother, that bathed  in light of the fireplace, the cold marble seemed quivering flesh and those curves, sculpted by a master hand, mimic very well the ones I guess under the clothes of the peasants girls. One evening, tired of reading St. Augustine, I watched and I approached her, my hands seemed to act on his own, and I went to kiss those cold lips that seemed to offer me some pleasure I do not know, but that I could divine. I did not desecrate that beautiful statue, mother, by the fortunate fact that at that moment the Count decided to go for a book to alleviate his boredom. I’ve never been more mortified in my life._
> 
> _He gave me a sermon on chastity and the place of a well-bred gentleman, he even mentioned Pygmalion, but what difference does it for me? He controls my time so I have no way to misbehave. Besides the only people I see around me are men: my tutors, the priests of Saint Mountain, the servants of the stables... And the fact that my father banned my friendship with this gentleman I told you about in an earlier letter only makes me more confused. I’m not ashamed; I did not do anything that I can be blamed. Everything we did was to hunt together and share some readings that seemed interesting. Yes, I admit, my mother that the gentleman of my acquaintance has the blessing of a beauty higher than the average, but that was not important in my relationship with him. I appreciated his company. A few days ago, this gentleman that I write about, gave me the news of his forthcoming marriage in the cloisters of Saint Montain. I was happy for him; I hugged him tightly against my chest. That’s what is done in these situations, is not it? So, why the worthy parents of Saint Montain reacted as if we were about to blaspheme on holy ground...?_
> 
> _Why is he so obsessed with my virtue? Does he fear that I will give him a bastard for a grandson? Is it true that I am a bastard?_
> 
> _So many questions, so few answers, mother._

That letter was impossible to continue.

The Viscount was aware that this was a letter that will only cause concern if it was sent, but there was tremendous confusion within him. The sadness caused by the absence of his friend, the frustration for that desire that he felt stirring within him, without a way to made it less urgent, just made him feel angry against himself and his father’s rules. If he had some integrity, he had to admit, even to himself, that, more often than not, the meridian devil visited him at night and he wake up, completely soaked, and with a head full of lewd images in which his father’s beautiful statue did not participate; that in these nocturnal fantasies he found himself stroking bodies of men and women alike, without predilection for either of them. If Olivier was writing, he was doing it out of habit, not because the recipient wanted to know that, at this very moment, he was having problems with his self-control and his soul was in turmoil.

The knock on his door distracted him from his writing exercise and his confused feelings. He took a deep breath and tried to remove the expression of his speech before giving the order to come into his room. As the door opened, he rose from the chair, in the event that it was his father making a visit. The person who entered his room was one that looked familiar but could not recognize his face, straight hair and hooked nose. He looked very young, and his expression told of a servant, but something was amiss: those hands were motionless at his sides, not together in front with a nervous movement. It was different to the rest of the servants who had searched for him that day.

“What is required ...?” Tried to find the name on the back of his mind, but he could not find it.

“My name is Jean-Benoît,” he presented himself with a very well done bow, polite and short. “But everyone calls me Grimaud, as my father and grandfather before him. M. Gédéon sent me to see if I could be useful.”

“And how could you be useful for me, Grimaud?” inquired the Viscount, but he knew what it was. The servants knew that soon he would leave La Fère. Almost everyone wanted to leave the county land as the _Vicomte’s_ valet.

“M. Gédéon has trained me in all the work necessary to become a servant of a gentleman. At first he wanted me to work for your father, but was too young, and the master had M. Alban at his service,” the young servant began to submit his application with the air of someone who repeats a lesson and it made Olivier smile. “I can cook, sir, and I take care of the clothes of a gentleman, either sewing shirts or wiping hats. I can add and subtract and write with good handwriting. All my life, I worked at home, usually in the kitchen, but in recent months I have served the table and took care of the castle rooms. M. Gédéon thinks I’m qualified to meet all your needs and that would be good for my future to serve you. On a personal note, I must add that I like to serve the house and my loyalty to your family is unshakable.”

His father wanted him to select one of the servants as his valet and that was a sensitive issue, almost like getting a good horse, but more so because it was a human being. This interview had an added difficulty, because the young man who had been sent by Gédéon, a Breton who had been his grandfather’s valet and who was a respected member of staff, and one who had served the family for a very long time as the overseer of the castle. The Viscount was not obliged to accept the applicant, but he knew he could not refuse without giving a reason. He was forced to weigh his features with a critical eye, because to find something that did not please him or something lacking in the suitor was the only way he could refuse, without offending the sponsor.

“That’s a rather long speech, Grimaud,” said Olivier viewing the prospect with searching eyes.

“It was the brainchild of M. Gédéon,” said the young man and his face said that he did not like the idea. “If I had choice, I would have said: ‘ _M. le Vicomte_ , my life is to serve and I know I am a prized possession for a worthy master’, but M. Gédéon not approves it. He said I should try to be humble.”

“You look young,” said the Viscount, coming to see the young man in detail.

“I am small, but this fall I completed sixteen years”

“Oh ... I remember. You are the orphan of the castle,” his father used to mention him as an example of Christian charity. “Your father worked in the stables.”

“Yes, _M. le Vicomte_ ,” The youngster replied looking straight ahead as if the review that he was enduring would not bother him. “M. Gédéon thinks I could grow up to my father’s height in a few years...”

“It’s not the height that bothers me. The naval service is difficult; it takes more strength than is required to wash dishes. Take off your shirt,” ordered taking a few steps backward.

Grimaud obeyed right away. The Viscount was impressed for the quick readiness to obey his orders, but immediately regretted for he had never seen naked skin so closely and the feeling that stirred within him when he saw the servant’s muscular torso was satisfactory and guilty at the same time. Setting aside the involuntary arousal, the servant might lack height, but the torso was talking about hard work and ability to lift weight. The Viscount could be satisfied from that side.

“You can get dressed, Grimaud,” ordered that separating his eyes from the new vision that was upsetting him. “It seems I was wrong about the kitchen work.”

“Ovens require a lot of wood,” said Grimaud putting his shirt over his shoulders.

“You’re quick to obey. Gédéon taught you well”

“I love to serve, and my satisfaction is to serve well, _M. le Vicomte_ ”

Olivier nodded and returned to his chair, pondering this new applicant more seriously than others. This Grimaud seemed a less satisfactory option than the sturdy lads who had asked flatly to be taken with him for they wanted to see more than the county land, or because the money would allow them to marry, or because when they returned they would have a better appeal to the peasant girls could be their wives. The orphan of the castle actually seemed to want to the position of valet and that he pretended to keep the job.

“Everyone has a reason to apply for a vacancy,” said starting to pull the tangled strings of his doublet, even though it was snowing outside, he began to feel the heat accumulated in the day. “What could be...?”

“Please, allow me ...” Grimaud came forward, his hands let go the strings of the doublet and demonstrated ability to deal with the clothes of a gentleman.

“What reason you could have for wanting to be my valet?” said the Viscount, unable to find an argument for the young man not help him with his clothes, especially when he was interviewed for that very work.

“It’s a good job. It is a good pay, better than I have now,” he replied with a throaty chuckle. His current pay was his bread and board, Olivier was sure. He stood behind the Viscount to help him remove the garment from his shoulders. “In addition, the master will soon realize that I am a sodomite and I should have references from other masters.”

“What did you say?” The Viscount said, rising from his seat, taking two steps forward and letting his doublet in the hands of kitchen assistant before turning around. In his world, that word was written or read, but never spoken aloud.

“I said I’m not interested in women,” he repeated with cold blood and without hesitation while dealing with the garment. “I have not done anything to be ashamed, but I do not know how I would manage to resist temptation, if I stay at home. I know the _M. le Vicomte_ is more approachable than _M. le Comte_ , also it seems to me that you are a worthy master.”

Olivier looked astonished at the one who dared to speak with such frankness. At its head was the suspicion that the service always knew more than they said and that this young man suspected that he shared his tastes. The worst of the situation is that Olivier could not, in good conscience, say that he did not understand him. Furthermore, a part of him admired the courage to say such things without embarrassment.

“It’s the second time you mention a worthy master” said the Viscount to regain his composure, “What do you mean by that?”

“A worthy master is a man who can give orders,” said the applicant, placing the doublet on his chest. “A worthy master knows what he wants from a servant and that’s what I’m looking for: someone who can tell me clearly what he wants from me; that have enough awareness of his own value to admit no less than the best service I can give. Someone let me take care of his needs and that keep in mind mine. “

“Do you want me to take care of your needs?” Olivier said, definitely the response had not reassured his mind.

“Yes!” the response was immediate and caused confusion on the servant, the idea had not occurred to him and once it entered his mind it caused him a deep embarrassment that was very noticeable in his countenance. “I beg your pardon...! I tried to say yes, but not as the _M. le Vicomte_ is thinking! I mean, I hope that, if _M. le Vicomte_ let me serve him, he has in mind I need to eat and a place to sleep and maybe a little free time to care about my own needs.”

That response made Olivier let the air out of his lungs freely. The situation was clarified and that was something that could work, even if the demon in his shoulder whispered to him that it could work in so many pleasurable, sinful and inconceivable ways.

“For sure, it is always the master’s right if he decides to take in hand the satisfaction of those needs, but I have no such luck,” said Grimaud putting the doublet on a hook, it sounded almost as if he was talking to himself. “Especially with a so handsome master...”

“Do not you think that is something daring to say?” said the Viscount cocking an eyebrow.

“Forgive me, _M. le Vicomte_!” Grimaud said with surprised face. He had not realized he was talking loudly. “M. Gédéon always says I am chatty”

Olivier snorted exasperated. Gédéon was right about the young man: he talked too much. Maybe he could use that as an argument for not take him and remove the temptation altogether.

“Of course, if you decide to take me as your valet, _M. le Vicomte_ , you can always order me to shut up and punish me, if my behavior does not please you,” said Grimaud, standing in front of the Viscount with both hands at his side.

“Do you want me to hit you?” the Viscount asked almost shocked. He had been on the other side of the beatings and it was not something he would have liked to experience again.

“It’s not like that, but it would be your right to punish my bad behavior,” Grimaud tried to explain the issue with a face of disquiet. “My master would never be wrong. My master will only punish me when I did not please him and he will be happy to make me a good servant. I do not like pain, but I like least not serve well, I thought you would understand...” his shoulders dropped and he whispered apologetically: “My master could never be wrong”

Olivier went to the window and saw that it was starting to snow again. He leaned his forehead on the glass, trying not to think about the times that his father raised his hand against him. He had spent years trying to forget the fear that his father caused him when his wayward conduct was sufficient to bring him a punishment that harms him—Never too much, never visible. Once he understood that his father’s way is the only one available, the beatings stopped completely. Occasionally, there were discussions over the table, filled with sour comments about a behavior that was not very polite, about some studies that were being neglected in favor of equestrian exercises, but there was no more violence after his father got to make him understand his authority. And in retrospect, the idea that his misconduct was an act of ingratitude was what hurt him most.

“My father is never wrong ...” whispered to his reflection in the window, almost like an echo.

Grimaud just stood there, waiting for him to give a new order or to be dismissed. His face proclaimed to the world his certainty of having ruined his chance of being taken by another master.

“Thanks, Grimaud,” said the Viscount without separating himself from the window, his reflection had no trace of what had gone through his mind. He had managed to bottle it all over again. “I think on your request when my father asks about who I want as a valet.”

In reply, the servant bowed and left the room. The Viscount sighed and looked through the window again.  The snow began to pile up around the old ash trees surrounding the manor house was the center of the county. The white landscape was comforting for the young Viscount, despite preventing his favorite activities. The cold was like a balm for his hot head and his ever irritable temper. Sometimes it came to his mind the image of a poorly tamed colt when he thought about himself: reluctant to bit, rebel against the rein, and heedless to the rider's commands.

What a fool he had been and how ungrateful!

Why it was always necessary to use the whip? Was he not already old enough to know when he should obey and when to use his own understanding? His father had his own reasons to send him to serve at sea, to prohibit the friendships that he did not consider appropriate, and to keep his son by his side instead of sending him to Paris. It was not his right to question his father’s motives: while he did not have enough experience, his duty was to obey those who have it. Olivier tore himself from the window and sat back down at the desk, his eyes saw the letter he had been writing and went over the lines with a cursory glance.

“God bless my fool head! What was I thinking when I wrote this?” he said, crumpling the paper before throwing it to the fireplace to start again.  

_Dear Mother,_

> _I have extraordinary news to share with you. M. le Comte has decided that I'm old enough to start my service and he got a position for me with the duc de Damville. Could you believe my luck? I have an opportunity to practice all these languages I’ve learned over the years and I will know those countries which I have only heard stories on paper. I cannot believe the extreme kindness that he shows to me. Furthermore, he has entrusted me with the task of choosing my own valet. It makes me feel like a grown person. I have had some applicants for the position, but I think I found one that meets the needs that I could have. I will consult with M. le Comte and maybe I would get his approval._
> 
> _I do not want to worry you, people say that the service in the Navy is dangerous, but I’m not scared. I know that M. le Comte can only wish the best for me and that you are on land praying for my safety. I will do my best to meet the expectations that you both anticipate from me, as a grateful son. I will make sure that you both feel proud of my behavior._
> 
> _Since I know this could be one of the few letters that can write before I left, I take the opportunity to renew to you my full devotion and my unconditional love and to beg for your blessings on this important moment in my life._
> 
> _I miss you, mother, and I am certain that M. le Comte misses you as well. I hope that your service to the Queen Mother is not too burdensome and that the weather in Paris is less cold that here in La Fère._
> 
> _Kissing your hands, Madame, your child  
>  Olivier._


End file.
